An Admiring Visitor
by Elphiefan95
Summary: Sherlock Holmes comes across an intelligent woman, who becomes a great interest to the detective. She is determined to avenge her fathers death by working with Watson and Holmes. She begins to become friends with the duo. But she begins to look at Holmes in a new light. She gives the detective what he has always gone without and feared; Love and Affection. Will he like it?
1. An Admiring Visitor

Sherlock Holmes was not a man who was fond of women. He never delighted in the nature of female attitudes. He was a man of brain more than heart, which was always clear in him when around the opposite sex. His mind would often be more dominant and would overshadow his heart, which made it very difficult for me wonder, whether he is a man who can love. I assumed that he was not a man who would fall in love with a woman, but there was a voice telling me in my mind, that love is in every man, once he finds it. I have observed Holmes is nothing but a reasoning machine. A frigid and recluse man with a cold exterior and untouched heart. A Black Beetle with no desire to love, no need to love, no reason to love. But as days went by, I began to think. Maybe, there was a possible soft heart in him that beat against his chest, that could easily skip a beat, in the presence of beautiful woman. He seldom became interested in women, save for their resourceful purposes during cases. But I think every man loves, even Holmes, a man who has seldom loved. A man who doesn't love is completely impossible. Love is in any man. Love is always there in a man. But, what I know of Holmes's theory on love, is that he doesn't succumb to it. He assumes it would take over his mind, which is dearly important to him, and would badly affect his career.

Indeed, Holmes still keeps a photograph of Irene Adler or "The Woman" , locked in his study drawer. Which I think is mostly based on his admiration by her wit and cleverness, which Holmes seldom saw in women. I wonder whether, there is a small amount of love locked within his callous exterior, which he never unfolds before me and never speaks of. But then I doubt myself, the more I puzzle over it. Holmes appears to a most unfeeling man through my days with him. It confuses me. I try to wonder. I live with my dear wife, and feel nothing but sympathy for my friend; knowing he has no love in his life, which makes him more of a cold and distant man. A beautiful woman with a clever mind, humour and unique personality, would indeed, bring him to his senses. A woman of cleverness and interest in criminals, may bring him above the surface. But, despite my thoughts, Holmes was hard and awkward to manipulate and change.

It is now I will start my story of why I have come to focus on this matter. Two days ago now, I had visited 221B as he invited me over for an evening coffee. Gladly I went over and had wonderful conversations on varied subjects that interested him. We got onto the subject of space, which he tried to change the topic, as he never believes that space is an important subject in his mind. I began to question him. He naturally became resentful in talking about it which caused a small dispute between us, which was then interrupted by an abrupt occurrence. Mrs Hudson knocked and introduced a woman. A very petite and young woman entered the sitting room, beautiful and doll-like. She had dark brown, marble-like eyes, mousy brown hair and luxurious curls hanging delicately from an updo. "This is Miss Elizabeth Winter, sir. She has something she wishes to say to you."

Holmes stood up out of his chair and gave a brief smile. "Thankyou, Mrs Hudson." He remarked as he offered the smiling visitor a seat as Mrs Hudson departed to go down the stairs.

"Thankyou, Mr Holmes." Her voice was absolutely angelic. "Thankyou for seeing me." She replied as Holmes sat in his seat once more and offered our guest a seat on the couch.

It was then Mrs Hudson, knocked at the door. Holmes sighed in annoyance. "Come in!"

Mrs Hudson wandered in with a pile of laundry which hid her face. "Mr Holmes, will you please not leave your laundry, in a big mess, at the bottom of the stairs." She exclaimed as her face appeared around the dirty sheets. "I tripped up on the them!, it's very dangerous!" Holmes gave a look of weariness.

"I apologize, Mrs Hudson. You never tell me where to put them!" he replied, arching his eyebrows, a tad frustrated at her intrusion.

She gave an exhausted sigh "I've told you, Sir, just give them to me when you need them washing. There is really no need to leave them everywhere where people can hurt themselves."

Holmes pursed his lips and blinked. "Yes, well. Thankyou, Mrs Hudson" He grinned at her, clearly taking delight in annoying his frustrated landlady. She eased in to Holmes in annoyance "I nearly injured myself, you know!" Holmes blinked in indifference.

"Mrs Hudson, will you vanish?" He gave a impish grin once more as she exhaled a exasperated breath and walked out in an irritant manner. Our guest gave a sympathetic titter, as she became amused at the landlady's exhaustion and frustrated manner.

"Still the same old Mrs Hudson." She remarked. In which Holmes frowned. "You know her then?"

"Oh, yes. She used to be my nanny when I was little. I won't bore you with the details, but she looked after me and my sister, at my home in the Lake District, when my parents were away. She always worked her fingers to the bone to keep us happy and healthy. Always running around after us."

Holmes smiled a soft smile at our guest and leaned against the arm of the chair. "What is it you want to say to us, Miss Winter?"

She paused as she gave a youthful smile. "You may be expecting some case or strange occurrence in my statement.." She began " But I will say I have not come to ask you for assistance or help. I have simply come to say thank you."

Holmes furrowed his brow.

"Thankyou? What on earth for?"

She blinked in admiration "For saving my sisters life."

Holmes appeared confused. "Saving your sisters life? Who is your sister?"

"Abigail Hamilton."

My friend's expression lightened as a smile spread across his lean features. "Ah! Ms Hamilton. John Hamilton's daughter. The woman who had the unfortunate luck of getting involved with that hideous, loathsome man, Andrei Vankov, The Bulgarian Murderer. Hideous business, was it not, Watson?" My friend gave me a pitiful look.

"Indeed. Not the most pleasant of souls." I added.

"Yes." The woman opposite quietly spoke.

"The moment she met him, I knew he was bad news. She had often spoke good of him, and how much he made her happy. How he made her smile. How he made her feel special and loved. But had I not seen his.."

She stopped as she lowered her head disgust, appearing to be in discomfort. "...his horrible..horrible book of poor unfortunate souls of whom he had..." She sat, with her eyes fixed on the fireplace, her eyes sparkled with a slight, unproduced tear.

"Of course.." Holmes replied, smiling with sympathy. "whom he had.." Holmes paused in a delicate manner "Murdered.."

She gave a fake smile towards my friend. "I felt such terror. Such terror for my sister that I just didn't know what to do. Then, of course , my mother knew of this and suggested I came to you and your good friend, to deal with the matter. And it was fortunate that I did so! If not for you Mr Holmes and Dr Watson, my sister.." She stopped and fiddled with her nails.

"Well...she would have been taken away from me!" Our guest moved forward in her seat with a sweet smile. She stood up and went over to Holmes with open arms. "I hope you don't find me too forward, but may I?"

I could see from my friend he was confused. He gave me an almost panicked glance, but kept his grace and stood up slowly as he timidly adjusted his pocket watch.

"Forgive, my dear, but a handshake would be more formal, would it not?"

She blinked a soft blink as she kept her position, with her arms were spread out before him. "Please, Mr Holmes? You saved my sister. You saved my life from such a hideous maniac. You saved the most important person in my life and you were indeed very kind and considerate with my problem for which I am incredibly grateful, and I wouldn't feel happy if you didn't get a proper thankyou."

Holmes's eyes lowered in embarrassment and glanced at me in need. I simply gave him a encouraged smile and gesture.

"Very well." Holmes mumbled as he slowly put his arms around her, in which she embraced him tightly around his neck. "Thankyou." She mumbled from behind his ear. It was then, Holmes's awkward look disappeared. He smiled such a warm smile. A smile which I never saw before. His eyes slowly closed, with a tender expression on his face, which surprised me. She then kissed him on the cheek which made him swallow in embarrassment.

"My pleasure." He let her go slowly as she grinned and giggled. "I hope I didn't make you feel uncomfortable, Mr Holmes."

Holmes had his back to her as he grabbed his pipe. "Not at all." He simply said, without looking at her.

"Goodbye, Mr Holmes. Goodbye, Dr Watson. Thankyou again."

Holmes glanced at her with a smile and gave her a dismissive hand flick. With that, she vanished.

I looked at my companion in searching gaze as he beamed at me as he went over to the window, and leant on the sill.

"That look, Watson, does not suit you." he replied in his snooty tone.

I sat down in amusement, but curiosity at the unexpected tender moment, which had just occurred. I glanced from the door to Holmes.

"Lovely girl." I added with a smile.

"Indeed. The opposite sex is your department, my dear Watson." he perked up but frowned, quite a thoughtful look across his face as he glared out the window, watching her leave.

"What?" I added.

"Nothing, my dear fellow."

"Holmes, theres something wrong. What is it?"

"Nothing you need to worry about, my good friend." He smiled and replied.

I did not know what thoughts were going round in his complicated mind, but the previous embrace he had encountered with our charming guest, had clearly imprinted on his mind.

"I've never seen you be so tender with a client, Holmes."

He gave a nasally laugh. "That hug was clearly needed by her. I could tell from your expression Watson, that it shocked you that I accepted her affectionate gratitude."

"Well, yes Holmes. You normally shy away from any type of affection clients so kindly give to you. You are positively inhuman at times."

He gave me a smirk. " Affection with clients isn't what I specialize in, Watson." He laughed and paused. "But sometimes, affection that is caused by gratitude for my work, is clear in a person. Miss Winter's sister clearly meant alot to her." He added watching the streets of busy, old London.

"How was that hug, ol' fellow?" I questioned him.

He looked at me and smiled to himself. "Not unpleasant."

I stared at him with a questioned look as it appeared to me Holmes was amused by our visitors affectionate manner.

"You looked like you enjoyed it" I remarked, picking up some books off the floor, of which Holmes had left there the night before.

He blinked at me and sighed.

"I must admit, Watson. It was..exhilarating." He smirked.

I stared at him as he glanced at me. He returned his look outside the window as he sighed and frowned in thought.

"Are you sure everything is alright, Holmes?"

"Everything is perfect, dear fellow." He grinned.

"Every woman who visits 221 B seems to be beautiful, do they not Watson? Personal qualities in women always centre around beauty and innocence. That always seems to be the paradigm of the opposite sex."

"Did you think she was beautiful then, Holmes?" I humoured.

He paused as he gave me an amused expression, but then returned his look out the window. "Fairly beautiful, Watson." I looked at him as his gleaming smile had gone. But instead, he put his hand to his mouth in intent thought. His brows had furrowed.

He appeared to be in his own zone. I could tell something had grabbed him in his mind. His nostrils was flared, eyes became soft and posture became relaxed. Our guest had somewhat gave him an impression him which he appeared to be pondering over. When she embraced him, he embraced her back, which was not like Holmes at all. He would rarely be affectionate with the human race, but something had changed in him after she had left. I believed Holmes had lack of interest in humans, but Miss Winter had clearly interested him. Not in a loving way, but in a platonic way. Her sweet, child-like innocence, I believed, had intrigued him.


	2. Miss Winters Return

The day after the visit of Miss Elizabeth Winter, Holmes had refused to eat over breakfast. He sat in his breakfast chair, in his night attire, hair over his face. Smoking a cigarette, surrounded by a misty wall of smoke that edged around him like morning winter fog. I had been kindly invited by Holmes over for morning tea, and I sat with him that morning. He sat there, his posture nonchalantly laid against the chair back and his arm draped over it. I sat with my cup of tea, in silence. I became concerned at his quiet manner. On the usual occurrence, he would talk for England, but not that morning. Whether it was lack of sleep, or his usual mind ponders, he wasn't himself. I drank my tea, but eventually brought up his unusual behaviour.

"You should eat, Holmes. You'll ware away." I broke the silence.

He slowly returned a weary look at me before smiling. "Alas, I cannot eat. My mind boggles at how boring life becomes when I do not have data to work on. Without work, my brain refuses to function. Crime has certainly gone down in the past couple of days."

I waited for him to continue, but he said nothing. He just blinked and put his fingertips together in thought. So I endeavored to cheer my weary friend up a little, as I began reading the paper, and found something of interest.

"You'll be glad to hear Holmes..." I started. "You are wrong."

He frowned in a curious manner but then he exchanged a quick glance from the newspaper to me with a twinkling smile. "Have you found something?" He beamed.

I returned a grin and passed him the Newspaper.

""Murder at White chapel. John Hamilton, a Father of two, had been found on the streets in White chapel last night at 7'o'clock by Constable Peterson of Scotland Yard. The Constable had described the victim to have been "Ripped apart from the chest, down to the pelvis and bashed in the head. The throat had been slit from left ear to right and one of his fingers on his right hand had gone missing." The friends and family of the murdered victim are truly devastated and Scotland Yard have given their condolences to them in deepest sympathy and respect. Miss Elizabeth Winter; one of the victims daughters had issued a statement to the police that Mr John Hamilton "Was the kindest and most considerate man to all that knew him." The Killer as of yet, is unknown, without alias or recognition in appearance. "

Holmes's smile dropped. His brow furrowed.

"Ah, Watson. The world is a cruel, malicious place. Miss Winter's family have certainly had their share of the most unfortunate of luck. What has the world come to in this day and age?"

"Indeed Holmes, but I thought you were in need of "Data to work on"."

"Yes. Indeed I do, Watson." His voice raised a little "But the world has a horrible, grotesque way of providing me with the most wicked mixture of crime and violence, which through fault of my own, I have made my responsibility of putting right, and bringing justice to this dark and sinister city."

"Well, you handle the responsibility well, Holmes. If not for you, the whole city of London would fall."

He gave me an impish titter.

"I suppose you are right in your words, Watson. But I do despair in today's society. The innocent man is slowly decreasing in existence."

I agreed, nodding to his sad but true words, knowing that crime has certainly become worse throughout the years with Holmes. It was then Mrs Hudson knocked at door.

"Mrs Hudson, what is it?" My friend blinked at the small landlady of a woman, who looked quite subdued.

"Mr Holmes.." She began in a quiet voice. "Theres Miss Elizabeth Winter to see you, Sir."

At once his eyebrows relaxed from being quite tense. He paused before replying.

"Show her up."

"Very good, Sir. Oh. I will say, before you talk to her , Sir, that she's a little shaken up and emotionally sensitive. You will be gentle with her, won't you, Mr Holmes?"

He got up and walked up to the grey- haired landlady. "Of course." He smiled.

As Mrs Hudson left, he began to tidy up a bit, before a voice distracted him.

"Mr Holmes..." She said. I turned to see her eyes red, her hands shaken and her mouth wet with tears.

"Ah, Miss Winter. Please sit down." My Friend fluttered her over the settee, where I sat down next to her, and offered her a hank chief.

"We are deeply sorry, Miss Winter. Would you like a cup of tea?"

She took the handkerchief from me and smiled. "Thankyou, but no. I cannot drink after this disaster. I just wanted to ask you whether you are going to be investigating in my fathers death."

Holmes stared at the fire, not look at her for a while, but soon cast his eyes over her with a slight smile.

"You do not have to ask Miss Winter."

She gave a small smile before becoming more saddened with her grief. I was in the act of comforting her, but Holmes gave me a gesture not to, by a quick point of his finger. This was his usual method of dealing with distressed clients. He would never be comforting, himself, but he would keep his cool air and grace, which would decrease the chance of the client more inclined to become more emotionally sensitive.

"He was such a wonderful father." She produced a tear, which from what I observed, Holmes became sympathetic in his expression, and he sat in silence.

"He was indeed, a brilliant man, Miss Winter." He whispered. "His, wit and intelligence was certainly unique." Holmes's face glowed from the light of the flames, crackling in the hearth.

She smiled and lowered her head. "He was, Mr Holmes. I wouldn't think of anyone who would want to murder him." She became more tearful and weary in the face. But then there was a look of hate on her red, tear stained, delicate face. "Whoever did this act, really doesn't have a heart, or certainly has a black heart."

Her look became slightly raged, which had certainly turned Holmes's glance. He had been glaring at the flames from the spitting fireplace, but he became aware she was more strong-willed than she first seemed. She was sitting there, broken and angry and her fathers ill-fated demise.

"My father was a kind soul, Mr Holmes. He was a charitable man, helping the poor, supporting his family and being a man of kindness and generosity. He never hated anyone. Nor was he hated." She squinted her blood-shot eyes to dismiss a tear.

"Luck has certainly not been on my side." She breathed. "But I swear, Mr Holmes." She started with a hiss which made Holmes move forward in his chair, as he was keenly intrigued by her gradual cold and spiteful manner. His emerald eyes glared at her.

"..I swear," she whimpered with slight hate in her voice. "I swear, the killer will be hung for what he has done."

Holmes eyes had a glint of interest in her unexpected spiteful tone.

"You are the only man I know who has the brain and skill to catch this criminal." Our client became urgent in her posture, as she moved forward in her seat.

"You have all the skill, talent and passion for following trails of unknown villains, and I must ask you two something."

"Anything, madam." Holmes leant against his chair arm.

"May I help you, in your endeavours?" Her look lightened.

Holmes frowned briefly.

"You wish..to investigate this case?"

She wiped her eyes from her rosy-cheeked face before she frowning in bitterness.

"Yes, Mr Holmes. My father will be avenged for his fate, and I will not stop until I see this killer hanging off the end of a noose."

I blinked in surprise. Her tone became calmer.

"I am also," She paused before smiling under her dull, teary eyes. "...interested in yours and Dr Watson's work and if I was included in this case, it would pay great respect to my father, and also my family, and it would make him proud; To know I was investigating his death with the most famous Consultant Detective in London who is so much adored in this city, with his Colleague at this side. It would do him proud to know that I was determined to avenge him and that my heart is in the right place. I so desperately wish to pay great respects to him, he certainly deserves it."

Holmes was intently listening to her, clearly paying interest and thought to her reason of her help. To investigate a death with such passion, heart and determination was the way of Holmes himself, but to see it in others was refreshing to see. A smile spread across his face and he gave a smirk.

"What do you think, Watson?" He beamed.

"Well, if she has the brains for it, I don't see why not. One question, Miss Winter. Do you think you can really help us? I mean, do you have a mind that puts clues together, like Holmes?"

She blinked. "Well, I do not have a brain like, Mr Holmes. He is a genius and I cannot compare with a genius."

Holmes exchanged me a twinkling, amused smile.

"..but I have my fair share of intelligence. I can assure gentleman I am very well educated. I love nothing more than putting links together and fixing them together, like shackles. I've experienced this skill in college. You see, I studied criminal psychology in my youth days, and I feel I should put them to use."

Holmes now had become rather excitable. His eyes glimmered with light from the fire. He stoop up, with flaring nostrils and a humoured,and exhilarated smile. He knelt in front of our guest, and took her hand. Clearly he was enthusiastic and keen to start the scent of this killer.

"A woman of such determination and compassion is rare in my profession. You will indeed help us. Due to your experience and education, I would not say yes to you, If I didn't think you are a very exceptional woman."

She grinned, becoming lightened by Holmes's eccentricity.

"Really? You want me to join you?" She glanced from me to my friend, who was knelt before her, smiling fiendish smile. From what I gathered, Holmes mood had definitely changed.

"If you feel you can help us, Miss Winter and I if you want to, then we will be more than happy to."

She became grateful as her face was dried from tears.

"Oh thank-you, gentlemen!" She glanced from me to Holmes.

Holmes blinked a kind smile, still kneeling like a grasshopper. "It is our job, Miss Winter."

She gave a breathy laugh.

"I declare we go down to White Chapel together after lunch. I suggest you stay for lunch, Miss Winter. You are clearly not in a position be alone at this difficult time." Holmes stood up, and adjusted his waistcoat.

"Mrs Hudson will make you a sandwich. Then we will start this investigation and get ahead of the game."

I smiled at my friends enthusiasm while our client grinned in gratitude.

"I will never forget this, gentlemen." She remarked as Holmes hollered down the hallway.

"Mrs Hudson! Mrs Hudson! Our guest will be staying for lunch!"

Miss Winter smirked at me. "Incredible man." She obviously was amused at his excitable, but obscure manner.

"Indeed he is, Miss Winter." I laughed


	3. A Horrible Misunderstanding

"This is where the body lay, Mr Holmes."

After lunch, we started our investigation in haste at WhiteChapel Road, the site of the murder. Our dear friend, Inspector Lestrade, had been waiting at the scene of the crime, before we arrived. He was standing with his fingers in his waistcoat pockets, with a big grin, clearly amused at Holmes's quick and blood-hound-like inspection of the area. He was on his hands and knees, and his magnifying glass against the cobbled road. Smoothing his fingers around the bricks, and sniffing the blood.

"As you can see, Mr Holmes, the blood stain is still visible. Constable Peterson found the body on his back, his head cocked to the left. The poor fellow had been.." The little man glanced at our client staring at the blood-stain. She appeared to be understandably uncomfortable, her hand to her mouth, as she stared at the dried patch of blood. Holmes became subtly sympathetic to her composure before turning towards Lestrade.

"Go on Lestrade." He delicately breathed.

Lestrade hesitated as he observed Miss Winters manner, but she dismissed her sadness. "It's alright, Inspector. I know what happened to him. You must do your job, please continue. Do not mind me, I can compose myself." She smiled a little.

"That's good of you, but I do not wish to upset you, Miss Winter." Lestrade remarked. "You will not upset me, Inspector. Tell it like it is. Please, go on."

Holmes gestured to Lestrade to carry on.

"Very well. Well, the fellow had has his throat cut, from left ear to right. His chest had been.."  
Lestrade observed our young clients expression. Her eyes became watery. "His chest had been ripped..apart from his Superasternal Notch down to his pelvis, and his index finger on his right hand had been..severely.. ripped off. He also had a fatal blow on the left side of his head with a blunt instrument."  
The mousy Inspector glanced at Miss Winter, who tried to compose herself. Holmes glimpsed at her before blinking intently at Lestrade.

"Indeed, Lestrade. May I see Constable Peterson?

Lestrade smirked. "Ah, I thought you would say ask that question, Mr Holmes. Yes, you may. Constable!" The tall, middle-aged constable, beige -haired man was stood talking to a man in rags.

"Yes Sir?" voiced the tall cockney constable.

"Tell Mr Holmes about your discovery. Bearing in mind, this is Miss Winter, the daughter of the victim, so be careful what you say, but be precise as to details." Lestrade gestured to the small woman who was smiling."Don't worry, Constable. I've heard the worst." She lightened up.

"Ah, I'll try Sir. Well, I was on m' beat as usual, 'round 7 o' clock last night, and the poor fella' had been lying in a pool o' blood on the cobbled road. He was on 'is back, all contorted..his 'ead had been brutally bashed in. His chest was pulled...apart with some sharp knife, possibly an eight inches knife, 'is right index finger 'ad been took off and his throat cut. It was a sorry sight, Sir."

"Now, Constable. To the basics. Were there any Witnesses that you suspect, and we can question?" "Ah, yes. Well, on the night of the murder, A Doctor Josiah Stanley was seen leaving his surgery a five or six minutes after time of the discovery. He was seen by Constable Peterson locking his door and departing a few minutes after the body was found."

"Did he appear suspicious? Any sign of agitation and excitement before leaving his surgery?" My Colleague inquired, giving the whole dirty street a pitiful look.

"Funny you should say that Mr 'Olmes. He entered his surgery with a black, leather bag. A medical bag I suspect. He departed without it and rushed off into the fog, looking like he didn't want to be seen. Walkin' off in a rush down the path, like he'd got piles or somethin'"

Holmes gave an amused nod at the joking comment. "Where is his surgery located?"

"Down to 73, Sir" The Constable pointed down the street, at a black door with white frame. A "Stanley & Sons, Whitechapel Surgery" on the sign above in gold lettering on a red, dirty, worn sign.

"Ah of course." Holmes remarked. "Was there anyone else lurking about that you observed on your beat, Constable?" Holmes inquired, while having his face down, examining the wall adjacent to the blood stain, picking up dirt and putting it in an envelope that protruded out of his coat pocket.  
"Indeed, there was. Mr Gregory!" He called to the man who was dressed in the most pitiful of clothes. His dark, brown hair over his face. A dark, fuzzy beard surrounded his chin in a messy, tangled way, like some kind of out-of-control crawler plant. As he got closer his eyes glimmered with recognition. Despite his worn appearance, his personality burst out full of confidence and charisma.

"Ah, I'm guessing this is Mr Sherlock Holmes!" Remarked the man, who was bent down a bit, clearly his back wasn't in the most best of conditions. My friend gave an smile of affirmation, but seemed surprised at the abrupt recognition.

"You know me then, Mr Gregory?" Cried the detective, in his exhilarated tone.

"Of course I do. Everyone knows your name! You're the talk of the town, so you are! Everyone knows you around WhiteChapel! Your methods and skills are very impressive, Mr Holmes! Very impressive! From what I hear of you around the street, you make criminals disappear like flies! With all the evidence you have in your pockets!" Holmes lifted his chin in approval, while showing some pride and gratitude in his twinkling, emerald eyes.

"Indeed. My methods are not of Lestrade's expectations.."

The mousy man next to me glanced at me in a humoured look. He was accustomed to Holmes's sly remarks, but still found him to be unpredictable man with unpredictable answers. "..but they do have their own advantages when I need them. Now. Mr Gregory. You were around at the time of the murder according to the Constable. At what time did you see the body?"

"Ah, well, Sir. I am not a wealthy man, as you may gather from my torn shirt and trousers, so I have no home to go to. I was down Whitechapel alley, when I heard your Police Constable blowing his whistle for assistance. This was about ten past seven. A Police Constable came running and panting around the corner across the street. I came out of the alley way, where I lay for a rest, against a pile of disposed crates. Being a poor man, I have no luck in supporting my bad back. Felt out of a tree when I was a little nipper of a thing. It ruined my spine, completely!"

"And then what?" Holmes inquired.

"Well I went around the body to have a look, but the constable suggested I back away from the sight of the man, who was sprawled across the cobbled stones."

"What did you do?"

"Well, I did what the constable said, and left well enough alone! It was awful, just awful. A man's life ended, just like that." Holmes gave Miss Winter a pitiful look as her expression seemed mournful.

"Of course." He remarked quietly. "Did you see a man, by the name of Dr Josiah Stanley, entering and leaving "Stanley and Son's" five minutes after the murder?"

"Yes, I did."

"Did he appear excitable?"

"Fairly. He went in with a black bag, looked quite big. A bag for medical implements guessing by the style of the bag. But the strange and suspicious thing is, he came out without it and rushed off down the fogged street, looking like a street urchin caught petty thieving! Couldn't have thought why he looked to perturbed and urgent. But something was a little bit fishy to me. Especially as he was around the time of the discovery and how quick he disappeared out of sight."

"You suspect he did the awful act then?" My friend seemed excited to have such a truthful account, from such a well-observed man, who had the advantage of witnessing any disturbance around the area of the occurrence.

"Well, I would be lying if I said he didn't. I mean, he's a Doctor, isn't he? I saw the gruesome marks around the neck and down the poor mans chest. What a sight! Could drive a man out of his wits, so it could!"

"Did err.." Miss Winter started as Holmes gave her a glance."Did anyone else lurk about in the area that could have seen the murder, Mr Gregory? I mean, anyone who had quickly disappeared in the fog? Or anyone acted suspicious but tried to act casual at the time of the discovery."

She seemed focused in her questioning, as her expression was a mixture of determination and loyalty to her ill-fated father. This had encouraged a smile in Holmes, who was beaming a grin in my direction, quite pleased at her efficient questioning. From what I gathered from his pale face, he knew she was going to become of brilliant use and will be an advantage to the case; all of this was clear in his marble, excitable the examination, he appeared to be expecting her to contribute at some point, but did not know when.

"Well, no, not that I know off. The street was quiet, with nothing but dogs barking. There were a few cats about, and a few horse hooves echoing in the distance. That's all, really."

"You saw, or heard nothing of importance, that might help us?" She further questioned.

Holmes blinked in admiration. Such a woman of cleverness and common sense had not came in contact with Holmes in a long period of time. I deduced from his thinned smile, he had great respect for her. As a man who does not think much of women, apart from important information they produce. But her professional-like yet pressured manner against the witness, appeared to have grown on him.

The man frowned at her a little, but became dismissive in his answer.

"No. Nothing."

"Nothing?" She inquired again, appearing to be suspicious.

The man stood there with an almost defensive expression.

"Nothing." He said bluntly.

Holmes smile had broadened as he put his cane to his mouth, quite glad of her suspicious manner and focused manner. His smile slowly dropped, and a frown molded in his brow. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, but he just stared at the ragged man with a questioning frown. He then thoughtfully blinked at the blood stain and gave a quick, questioning glance at Lestrade. "Constable." Started my colleague."Did you discover anything unusual about the body? Anything that would be of interest and significance for the case that you think can be of use." Holmes said with his hand behind his back, with his nose flared. Clearly he knew there was something Lestrade had forgot to speak of; that was, to Holmes, suspected to be of some vital importance .

"Well, Sir..." He looked at our client with some hesitation.

"Please Constable. Whatever it is, it is relevant and will help us immensely." My friend gave a friendly, but professional smile.

"Well, the body had a note in the coat pocket. It read.." He got out his notebook at this point ".."Rest In Peace, Daddy" and it's signed "E.W""

Holmes gave a startled look. His eyes were bright. Full of excitement and anxiousness. His eyebrows had furrowed in complete concern. Our client had certainly become overwhelmed, as she became emotionally urgent.

"You don't seriously believe I wrote this do?" She asked in such a defensive manner towards the constable.

"The writin' is in your 'and, madam."

Holmes became agitated, but kept his cool, reasoning expression. I could tell he was not believing that the victims own daughter would kill her own father. Something was circling his mind, as his knuckles her against his lips in intense thought.

"How do you know?" She became shocked at the comment.

"We traced your address, an' your mother showed us your writin'. She told us she knows you didn't do the murder, but we need to question you on the murder."

Now Holmes was onto something as he looked at our client, who was more emotional than she was, and my friend gave Miss Winter a look of disbelief. Inspector Lestrade face became grave.

"But, why would I kill my own father? You can't arrest me for something I never did."

"I'm 'fraid that's something for the jury to decide, Miss. Come with me, Miss." The constable was now shackling her as she was giving Holmes an urgent look. "Mr Holmes? Mr Holmes?"

I gave Holmes an pleading look, as he was far too quiet about the matter, until he eventually spoke.

"Constable." He finally said. "Do you seriously believe she would murder her own father? Surely, a conducted interview would be more necessary than arresting her."

"Well, Mr 'Olmes, we 'ave to go through the proceedin's. If you wish to interview her, you may. But she is put under the charge of killing her father."

"But...Mr Holmes Mr Holmes!" She hollered in a broken, teary voice as she was dragged to the police cab.

"Very well. Don't worry, Miss Winter! We will bring justice to you. You are surely in the wrong."

I gave my friend a look of admiration, as he appeared to believe he knew she didn't do it. Mainly because he deduces her to be a kind and sweet natured woman, and would have no motivation for killing her father. From her spitefulness against her fathers murder, she was certainly telling the truth. No woman would be so cold, if she wasn't being truthful.  
I looked at Miss Winter, as she entered the police cab, giving me a begging look. Her worried and terrified expression was the thing that haunted my mind, as she drove off. Holmes put his walking cane to his lips, and a black cloud past his face.

"I'm sorry gentleman, that is the law." Lestrade remarked gravely, with a sigh.

Holmes gave a dismissive expression. "The law, Lestrade, is part of life. If there was no law, we would not live in safety from the criminal world. And you wouldn't be an Inspector at Scotland Yard; and we would not have the pleasure with working you, Lestrade" Holmes gave a slight smile to the small ferret-like man.

"Well, Mr Holmes. That puts it in a wonderful light. Justice is always hard on the innocent." Lestrade remarked put his hand in his pockets.

"Was there any evidence around the body, Lestrade? Something of some significance."

"Yes, there was. There was this."

The small man went over to the corner of the alleyway and picked up a sharp, and quite large remains of a brick with a blood stain of the corner. At once Holmes got out his magnifying glass and examined it; like a Lepidopterist , examining a specimen of butterfly with delicate care and smoothed the edges and stopped in thought, as shoved the sharp brick in Lestrade's hands, which caused much surprise, discomfort and irritation to Holmes lack of care.

"Careful where you're putting that. It is sharp you know."

Holmes examined the street while giving a brief apology to the Inspector, who had began to bleed on his finger, in which I got out a clothe and dabbed it. Lestrade gave me shake of the head as he sighed. "Wonderful friend you have, Dr Watson." He mumbled under his breath

"A man of much care and consideration." He humoured while being slightly annoyed at his wound.

"He's not all that bad, Inspector. Just keep that clothe on it until the blood dries." In which Lestrade gave a brief sarcastic laugh and stopped as Holmes had separated from us, far across the road, pacing up and down the pathway.

"Mr Holmes? What are you doing?" Hollered Lestrade.

"Nothing, Lestrade!" He exclaimed sprinting across the road with his walking cane. Lestrade gave Holmes a look of perplexity.

"Has something caught you interest, Mr Holmes?" Lestrade inquired.

"Nothing, Lestrade. Now. Mr Gregory, we will need to interview you again at some point during the day." Mr Gregory appeared to be taken aback. "But, you have interviewed me. I can't tell you anything else, apart from the things I've heard and seen."

"Yes, Mr Gregory, but I intend you interview you again."  
Mr Gregory became anxious. "Whatever for? You have everything you need to know from me!"

This moment in time, Holmes arched is eyebrows. "It is my business. And I believe you are covering up something." He replied.

The hairy, dark man sighed in frustration and seemed to be surprised, with a hint of anger. "Mr Holmes. I am not at liberty to cover up something. I have told you everything I know, everything I've seen, everything I've heard. Am I under some dark cloud because of my social hierarchical status that puts me in the wrong? Is that why you suspect I'm hiding something?"

Holmes calm, cool manner remained un-affected by the mans questioning.

"No, Mr Gregory. I am merely observing. It is my trade. I am a detective in need of facts. But I deduce I am not in full confidence with you with the facts that you endeavour to produce before me."  
The man put his hand up to speak but Holmes interrupted.

".. I am not putting you in the wrong, Mr Gregory. But I have to inquire another interview with you to help me in this investigation. Something is on your mind, that you are hiding from me and I wish for you to tell it. Now. Where shall we meet today and what time?" Holmes looked around for an inspirational rendezvous point.

Mr Gregory seemed irritated but brought back his confident and refreshing tone. "The Ten Bells. That is a good meeting place, Sir. Half past three? Will that suit you sir?" He asked quite contently and politely.  
Holmes turned to him in a quick glance.

"Splendid. That will do. Come Watson. We must Interview our Dr Josiah Stanley to carry on our investigation. Good-bye Lestrade, Mr Gregory."

"Good-bye Doctor Watson. Good-bye Mr Holmes. We will keep you updated if we find anything of interest." He hollered across the street as Holmes lifted his walking cane in response to the mousy chap across the street. We made our way, in haste to "Stanley & Son's" to interview Mr Josiah Stanley.

"Holmes...Why do you suspect that Mr Gregory is hiding something? Everything he said appeared to be truthful and not deceitful in any way, and his manner was not suspicious at all. What do you expect to gain from him?"

"More information. Clearly he was telling us what he observed to be of importance, but there is more to him than meets the eye. I am not at liberty to say he is guilty, but all suspects need to be questioned until they are dry from information. He knows more and I intend to get it out of him."

"But he was such a nice fellow. He doesn't look like he hiding something."

"Ah, but appearances can be deceptive, Watson. Does is not strike you as odd, that he was sweating on his forehead, or that he kept scratching his neck every-time he spoke?"

I frowned in thought.

"Well, it's a hot day Holmes. Maybe his tangled hair was irritating him."

Holmes smiled a knowing smile, and tapped me on the arm. "No. Watson. No. He knows something. I intend to find out what it is. In the mean time, we will question the next fruit in our fruit bowl; Doctor Josiah Stanley."

I could not argue with the professional at work, but I knew he was onto something. What it was, I was unsure. But Mr Gregory appeared to me to be a wonderful, refreshing and charismatic man. Whatever he was hiding, was not clear to me, but it was to Holmes.

"What about Miss Winter?"

He glanced at me. "She is truly innocent, or my name isn't Sherlock Holmes." 


End file.
